


Nosedive (gryles)

by fromyesteryear



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, Gay - Fandom, Onedirection - Fandom, art - Fandom, dark - Fandom, harrystyles - Fandom, media - Fandom, nickgrimshaw - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 05:07:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14418330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromyesteryear/pseuds/fromyesteryear
Summary: Harry Styles was outspoken to a fault, and he was painfully aware of this. Holding up his status quo, however, seemed to hold no importance at all once something bothered him truly, and society's opinion on him was something that bothered him immensely. He was fickle- which was hard to be as a celebrity- and entirely unable to settle on simply frowning at the unjust. He had to do something that would change the world's outlook on certain things before his time was up. The only question on the matter was what that something would be-or who.He would hold on to the feeling of being infinite for as long as he dared.





	1. The Joy Of Recollection

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to the first story i'm publishing here! 
> 
> i really hope you enjoy this - i worked very hard on it. 
> 
> i also have an account on wattpad under the same name as here (fromyesteryear), so if you want to check that out, you are welcome to. 
> 
> all the love in the world! 
> 
> luka anoury.

We all have and are assholes—that was truly the one meaningful thing Harry was sure of and had realised in his twenty-six years on Earth- or more realistically sixteen, considering he hadn't known he had an asshole till he was ten- but he didn't spend much time pondering that.

His logic applied mainly to himself, really, because he was rather outspoken, and being a somewhat self-righteous asshole kind of came in the job description.

He didn't know what he expected when he walked into the bar going by the name of, 'The Pirates,' but colliding with five people all at once was most definitely not it. Neither was his spiked drink, but to Harry's credit, his attention wasn't so far away that he didn't see a hand drop something into the liquid.  
He settled on not drinking it, ordering another one and sliding the spiked one as far to his right as he could. The music was far too loud to process a single thought coherently, and so Harry was but a second away from getting up and leaving. A night out might not have been as 'fun' and 'relaxing' as he had made it seem to be in his head.

"Harry?" He started, nearly spilling his drink all over the table. Distraction was good, though, even if it meant handling a terribly boring conversation. He turned around.

"Nick?" Harry flew up and out of his chair quicker than seemed humanly possible, not a single part of his brain considering his actions and what they might imply before flinging himself onto his old friend.

"You haven't a clue how good it to see you." Harry whispered against Nick's ear, breathing in his familiar, welcoming scent.

"Missed you too." Nick chuckled in reply, his arms reluctantly loosening around Harry.

"How long's it been? Months, innit?" Harry continued, beyond overwhelmed with excitement.

"Years, I think. I'd estimate about two years. Remember that show in December? We went out for dinner, I think." Harry nodded along as Nick spoke. He silently reprimanded himself for not calling his friend earlier, as he always did when he ran into someone he'd once loved, but decided to focus on living in the moment when his eyes met Nick's again.

"Well, how's it been, then?" Nick asked when Harry sat down again, offering him the chair next to him. "If you don't mind me asking."

Harry's head nearly fell off in exasperation. "We're friends, of course you can ask. You can ask me anything, really—I'd still be honest with you." Harry was almost shocked at how sincere his words were. Perhaps he was getting tired. "But, yeah. Yeah, it's been great. Working on projects every spare moment I've got, so it's a bit much, but other than that, it's alright."

"You've always been a bit manic, so it doesn't really surprise me." Nick commented, earning him a foul grimace from Harry.

"Thanks. And yourself? What've you been up to?" Harry asked. He studied the man sitting next to him at The Pirates, wondering how he hadn't fucked someone so attractive yet, although it sounded a lot less crude in his head.

Must be straight then, he thought.

"Oh, God—we'd be here all night if I went into it all." Nick laughed, waving at the bartender and raising a finger, ordering himself a drink.

"Ah, pity. I've only got another four hours." Harry joked, smiling childishly at Nick.

"A pity indeed." Nick sighed dramatically, then grabbed both of Harry's hands so suddenly he hadn't a chance to process what the action of doing so might've enforced, but he didn't care—not now. "Let's get out of here."

Nick's gaze reminded Harry that of a predators: intense and knowing.

"Okay." Was all Harry managed to mumble in reply before he was stumbling out the door with an arm draped over him protectively.

Harry nearly squealed when his foot first met the pavement, thunder shaking him thoroughly, the rain already starting to flatten out his hair against his scalp. The music from the pub was but a dull ache now, and still, the scene felt almost romantic.

"Fucking great. Wasn't raining when I got here." Harry explained over the rush of the rain. Nick let go of Harry and pulled of his jacket, holding it up in an attempt to mimic an umbrella. An awfully thick and absorbent umbrella, but it was better than nothing, Harry supposed.

"C'mon on then, Popstar." Nick smiled playfully, inspiring Harry to rush into his embrace. The article of clothing did little to keep them from getting absolutely drenched, but Harry appreciated the gesture. Before he even knew what was happening, the two of them were clambering into Nick's silver car, laughing hysterically at the situation they'd thrown themselves into on nothing but a whim.

But it grew quiet quickly, and cold hands clutched the fire ignited in overactive imaginations tightly, chests heaved, and gazes met apprehensively. And suddenly, the night wasn't so dark anymore.

Harry felt the soft touch to his cheek, relished in the rush of adrenaline and begged for more simply with his eyes.

"Just for tonight?" Harry said. He was only ever punctilious in regards to flickering his attention from face to body to head and taking it all in. And Nick seemed to be on the same page as him on this one.

"We'll see in the morning, sweetheart." Nick replied, punctuating his sentence with the collision of skin on skin. Harry felt Nick's lips meet his own in what felt like another space of time: as though they were in the back pocket of the universe. Alone but so utterly whole, all at once.

And as Nick fell on top of him he felt nothing but entirely too infinite. He felt special. And perhaps holding onto moments in life only held one close to the past and never let you move forward, but he knew he would take his head by the hand if it meant he could recall sex to exact detail. He would much rather live in his head if it meant smiling at memories of writhing and shaking in the back of Nick Grimshaw's car.


	2. He's Made Plans For The Mad

Harry figured he would have to put a leash on himself if he peeled his eyes open and found that he wasn't sleeping in his own bed—and he meant it in the least kinkiest way he possibly could.

It wasn't exactly as though he fell into old patterns every time he stumbled upon an ex-lover, or someone attractive, but it was, and even more so, it was ridiculous—because he was an adult, and he was most definitely capable of making thought through decisions whilst simultaneously avoiding rash ones. Although he knew none of it was true.

But that was all just an ongoing debate Harry had with himself on the daily, however, for now he lay deadly still on a mattress, his aching limbs all entangled in sheets that did not belong to him. He hadn't dared open his eyes as of yet, too scared of what he'd find.

He didn't really have the energy to face anyone so early in the A.M, but he did really have to take a piss, and falling back asleep didn't seem like an option now that he was awake.

Eventually Harry's eyes peeled open on their own accord, though. He didn't recognize the sight of the ceiling he was met with, nor did he recognize the nightstand where a tablet and glass of water awaited him.

It didn't take him longer than a minute before he realized where he was, if the mess in the room was any proof of it. He was at Nick's. And they'd had sex the night before. In a car, if he remembered correctly.

"Motherfucker." He complained to the empty room. He rolled over, his eyes bleary from the light seeping in from the window. He let himself get lost in thought again, however, only broken from his reverie by the distinct sound of someone clearing their throat.

"You awake?" Nick asked, the mattress dipping as he sat down a safe space away from Harry.

"Hmm—yeah. Kind of." Harry mumbled. He could just about see the compassion hidden away somewhere in the eyes of the older man as he flickered his gaze anywhere but to his own. Harry tried valiantly to ignore the swelling in his heart as he regarded Nick, but his efforts proved futile.

"Breakfast?" Nick's question broke the quiet next. Harry nodded, still only half awake, and dragged himself out of the warm comfort of the covers.

And yet again, they fell under a silence they weren't familiar to, but they were the farthest from opposed to it—Harry and Nick weren't blind to the comfort and ease it provided them both with. And soon enough they were sat across form each other, in yesterday's clothes, and head's far off somewhere in the future.

"Harry, I swear to God, if you don't finish that I'll force feed you myself." Nick said suddenly, sending Harry a more than pointed look. Sincerity was written all over his face in angry scribbles, it seemed.

Harry was slightly surprised at how concerned he sounded—his voice having bordered on the tone one uses around the best of best mates. It seemed that adapting to situations really was a human thing to do.

"Sorry, mum." Harry mumbled dejectedly, only to perk up instantly when he saw the look on Nick's face.

"Harry." His tone threatened war like no other.

"Oh, s'cuse me—daddy."

Nick nearly choked on the bite of toast in his mouth, coughing till blush dusted his neck and face, making him greatly resemble a tomato.

"What the fuck, no." Nick choked out.

"Whatever you say." Harry said, smirking to himself. He felt as though he had been coated in comfort—this all felt so normal, as though he had known all along that things would play out like this. As though his every move was predetermined. Or perhaps even he found himself growing more and more predictable as time flew by.

"So," Nick uttered once he was satisfied with Harry's nutrition intake, putting his hand on Harry's. The younger boy found himself entirely captivated by the sensation the simple touch sparked to life.

"So," Harry echoed, far too lost in the feeling of Nick's hand on his to say anything even vaguely coherent.

"What're your plans for today?" Nick managed to say.

"Depends." Harry mumbled, his eyes flickering to Nick's lips.

"Oh, yeah? And on what might it depend on?" Nick's lips tugged upward when Harry met his eyes.

Harry's heart beat wildly as he said, "If you want me to stay."

Nick let lose a laughter full of far more than just amusement. Adoration, perhaps. Or joy. "'Course I do, Haz."

"Good, 'cause I'm not exactly in the mood to deal with people today." Harry admitted.

"I'm people, Harry." Nick said, a look of mock hurt set deeply in his face.

"Nah, you're different." Harry often thought sensations were worth a compliment or two, and Nick was most definitely different regarding how he made him feel. He had pressed pause on the world for today, he decided then—he could deal with debates, interviews and assholes tomorrow.

"Am I now?" Nick's eyes looked alive, yet artificially beautiful in the morning light.

But Nick really wasn't special, not if Harry were to compare him to everything he might find in the world if he were to look. The illusion remained, however, as it always would. Because he wasn't going to go searching for something close to paradise. He had all he could possibly want to be content. At least to human standards. As long as he remembered the feeling of being infinite. As long as he could influence the world, somehow.


	3. We'll See Them In Hell, If Nowhere Else

"I know you're probably not used to early mornings- being you and all- but I've got work today, you know." Nick said. The clock on the wall read 5:23 a.m, and Harry spent a good two minutes pondering the logic of hanging clocks on walls, and who did it. Nick, apparently. And his parents.

"Yeah, I know. And I'm not that bad, Nick. I get up sometimes." Harry replied. He hadn't slept very well. He'd ended up waking Nick just twenty minutes to five, and then curled up in his arms when they both proved to be far too tired for conversing at such an ungodly hour.

Nick only snorted, which was some sort of reply he supposed, but Harry wasn't at all satisfied. He moved till he could look Nick in the eye, which happened to be on top of him. His gaze was met with such familiarity and comfort that it felt strange to think they hadn't been stuck in that position for months on end. The safety Nick's arms provided him with was unheard of, in Harry's little world, but now that he'd felt it, he reckoned he'd die without it.

"So, what do you want to do about it?" Nick asked. Harry shuffled around again, being the unruly mess he was, and sighed contentedly when he realized he had a somewhat vague answer to give.

"I'll come with you." Harry suggested, blinking his dark eyelashes up at the older man.

"What?" Nick exclaimed, smiling. "To work?"

Harry nodded in answer.

"Wouldn't that be boring for you, though? You'd just sit and watch me speak into a microphone all morning." Harry shook his head.

"Don't you have other things to do? I figured you were at least somewhat professional."

"I'm on holiday, you asshole." Harry whined.

"And you're spending that time with me? That doesn't seem fair on you." Nick tutted.

Harry felt an ocean of protests to such an accusation rise up his throat, but he pushed it down in an attempt to calm himself. He couldn't get too attached, after all. Not when he travelled as much as he did.

"I'd spend all my free time with you if I could." Harry stated quite clearly, because it was true, and it felt right to say. Whether it was up to the early morning or to Harry's somewhat permanent delusional state, he knew he'd been right to say it when he saw Nick's eyes spark to life.

"Are you high?" Nick asked, wearing a sly grin.

"No, you absolute twat. And you're the one who drove me to your apartment, so if anyone's gonna point fingers it should be me." There was a prolonged pause as Nick pondered this.

He remained looking unconvinced. "Are you sure you aren't high?"

Harry flicked his arm playfully. "Yes, I'm sure."

The conversation seemed to come to an abrupt halt right then and there, and it seemed almost rude to break through the silence that had settled over them. So Harry waited patiently before Nick spoke up next.

"Gotta get to work now, love." And God forbid, did Harry nearly swoon at the pet name.

"Alright." Harry said, glancing at the clock that now read 5:37, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't follow Nick around for the remainder of the time they spent at his apartment.

"After work," Nick spoke as he started his car, Harry sitting in the seat beside him. "I'll be grabbing lunch with Matty, I think- if he bothers to reply and confirm it."

Harry nodded to himself. "Yeah, sounds good." He paused, uncertain. "Unless you don't want me to come along with you."

"No, no- God, of course I do. I'm not losing you right after finding you again, aight?" He spoke distractedly as he navigated the streets, and Harry was rather impressed with how sincere he managed to sound whilst keeping his eyes on the road. Harry ended up just a little bit too overwhelmed to speak.

"You know Matty, yeah?" Nick asked, clicking on the radio. He left a news station on quietly, serving as background noise.

"Not well, but I know who he is." He said, stretching his entire self in a car much to small for him. He heard Nick snigger at him.

"Well, there's only one thing you need to know about him, really." Nick said dramatically.

"And what's that?" Harry played along, suppressing the laughter simply begging to escape him all at once.

"He has the worst of habits—he either overthinks everything, or he doesn't think at all."

Harry pocked Nick's shoulder playfully. "Bit like you, then."

"Oh, fuck off." Joyous laughter filled the car.

"I bet I can handle him."

"I'm sure you can."

-

The morning didn't seem to drag on as much as Harry first suspected it might. The only truly eventful thing that happened was when he forgot to pull his hood up, and at least five bystanders widened their eyes at him. He ducked out of the room quick enough, but it could have ended with quite a hassle.

The biggest issue had been boredom.

By the time Nick walked in to get Harry, he was lying with his feet up in the air, his shoulders resting on the sofa.

"Oh, you're back." He said excitedly before tipping himself over, landing on the floor with a 'thump'.

"Jesus, you okay?" Nick asked, smiling nonetheless. 

"Now that you're here, yeah. Why is there nothing to do in here?" He complained, getting up and straightening out his outfit.

"It's not exactly a playground, Harry." Nick joked, pecking him on the cheek before taking his hand and leading him out of the building whilst Harry babbled on about whatever nonsense was on his mind.

The ride to the restaurant wasn't any longer than five minutes, thankfully, and before long, the two reunited friends-and-sex-partners walked through the door with the writing, 'best chicken salad on the street!'

The two of them spotted a man sitting furthest back, in the very corner, perhaps to hide the purple barf his hair was.

"Harry." He offered his hand awkwardly.

"Matty. Matty Healy." Matty said, taking Harry's hand and shaking it. The meeting felt all too formal as of yet, and Matty's hair was distracting, to say the least.

"Yeah, I know—we've spoken. Think you asked me for five grand." Harry grinned wryly at the memory. He watched on quietly as realization dawned on his face.

"Oh, yeah—fuck me, I'm sorry about that." Matty apologized, although it was easy to see just how amused he was.

"It's no bother. Besides, Nick here told you to do it, so really it's his fault." Harry spared Nick a quick glance and saw him pouting petulantly.

"Blame the radio show host." He all but grumbled before his lips curved upwards into an infectious grin. "And did Barney come all over your hair, by any chance?"

Matty flipped him off.


	4. What A Terrible Blunder

When Harry received the text, he suspected he might be dreaming. Christ, he hadn't exactly expected to be told he was the worst person alive via snapchat.

live your fucking life without me. i saw what you did.

Harry knew his best friend, Jessie, wasn't very predictable—but the message really wasn't what he'd hoped for when his phone screen had lit up. Nick had left him alone in his apartment, and although Harry reckoned it was probably best to start figuring out where to go from there, he couldn't be bothered to go much further than, for example, the kitchen.

He had already been in somewhat of a bad state, but the text message threw him right back into the never ending spiral of self-doubt and panic.

He had ringed Jessie up, of course, and she sounded like she was crying, and Harry really didn't have a clue as to what to do.

"Oh, thank God you picked up. What's going on, Jessie?" Harry said, biting his lip.

"Fucking bastard. Leave me alone." She said: cold and sniffling on the other end of the line, untouchable from where Harry was.

"Jessie, you've got to tell me what I did. Tell me—I beg you, so I can fix this." He felt his hand grab locks of his hair tight enough to rip them right out.

"You can't do anything, if you could do something I would've told you." She nearly hissed. There was a sudden chill in the air- panic somehow entangled with fear happily dancing around Harry- for he had never expected to feel like he fucked up so terribly with his best friend.

"Jessie, I-" But she hung up before he could finish. He didn't know what he would have said anyway. But fuck, it stung.

"Okay, okay- calm down." He mumbled to nothing but the air. There wasn't an inch of him willing to do so, however, and neither his head or legs seemed to remember how to work at all. He simply stood there: frozen and utterly terrified.

It would sort itself out soon enough: he was sure of it. But Jessie was as unpredictable as she was loyal. Which, in short, meant that he was pretty much fucked right in the ass on this one. Jessie often confined herself only to what she knew well. And although Harry reckoned he should be somewhere close to the top of that list, doubt felt damn near ready to start dripping out of his ears.

Eventually, Harry felt himself muster up the courage to text her. Repeatedly. She did not reply.

-

By the time Nick got home- and thank God he did- Harry was nothing but a wonderful blob of tears on the bedroom floor who had momentarily forgotten his limits of self-respect.

"Harry?" Nick said, already sounding rather alarmed by Harry's state- although, he couldn't blame him. "What's wrong? Talk to me, love." He cooed.

Harry didn't know how to answer, so he simply blew his nose into the nearest thing, which happened to be his only spare shirt, which he'd worn for the past three days he'd spent at Nick's apartment.

"I'll get you a change of clothes." Nick said, his voice soothing and reassuring. Harry nodded quickly, no doubt looking smaller than he had in a long time.

"Do you mind telling me what happened?" Nick asked once he'd managed to pry Harry's clothes off of him and put on the clean pair, which was a hell of a lot harder than he first thought it'd be. He was holding Harry's hand, sitting across from him on the soft covers of his bed.

"Jessie, she- she hates me." Harry sniffled. He sounded childish and pathetic: he wished he didn't. He wished he had something worthy of crying about, because a bad reaction to something unbeknownst to him from his best friend shouldn't be this heartbreaking. And yet it was.

"I'm sure she doesn't, love." Nick said, his free hand fingering Harry's hair playfully. It felt soothing. Familiar.

"She really does. I fucked up, but I don't even know how I fucked up, but she won't forgive me. She's not gonna be my best friend anymore." Harry said, and as he did, the truth rung truer and louder than ever before. "Fuck—she's not my best friend anymore."

"Shh, shh—of course she is, Harry." Nick tried, but the younger man's heaving didn't cease.

"I don't blame her," Harry continued, tears resting on his cheeks and on his chin, because he felt unwilling and unable to stop. Because he'd gone beyond too far to ever go back now. "I wouldn't want to be my friend."

"Don't say that." Nick said softly, pulling Harry into a tight embrace. And Harry hung on to Nick's arms with as much meaning as he could, because if there was one thing he knew he didn't want to forget, it was that moment. "Anyone would be lucky to know you. In fact- I can hardly believe you're here in my apartment. You're more than a blessing to this world. You're everything."

"Stop." Harry whined, his cheeks flaring bright red, completing his unruly new look: tears, and red eyes to compliment even redder cheeks.

"No, I mean it, Harry. If Jessie can't see how much you're worth, fuck her." Nick stated, stroking Harry's hair comfortingly. And with that, silence easily met the room, only broken by quiet sniffling.

"I've known her since I was twelve." Harry said at last. Nick hummed in acknowledgement, keeping silent. Harry then laughed and said, "I'm sorry for being such a mess."

"It's alright. I don't mind it one bit, as long as you let me take care of you. Although, I prefer you laughing to crying."

"what a sop you are." Harry smiled.

"Yeah, but let me top it all off with something: what's your favorite movie?" Nick asked. The two were still holding hands.

"You'll literally disown me if I tell you." Harry said, face still redder than ever. Nick pouted in disapproval, then moved to effectively kiss Harry sweetly.

Harry nearly followed Nick when he pulled away. "That's no fair—you can't bribe me into telling you."

"Want to bet?" Nick winked for dramatic effect. Harry rolled his eyes, but allowed Nick's lips to find his own. It didn't take long at all for Nick to start licking into Harry's mouth, and despite all rational thinking, Harry let a soft moan escape him. By the time the second minute rolled around, Harry didn't really know what to do with himself. Any movement made by Nick sent shivers down his spine. If Heaven tasted anything like this, Harry reckoned he might just start praying daily.

Harry pulled away, saying in between gasps for air, "The Notebook. My favorite movie is The Notebook."

Although Nick looked rather flustered himself, he smiled smugly and said, "And you call me a sop?" To which Harry replied by flicking him on the arm.

"C'mon." Nick said then, hoisting Harry up as he stood as well.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked, confused but happy.

"It's a surprise." Nick exclaimed.

"I hate surprises."

"Not mine, you won't."


	5. A Distorted Image Of Reality

As it turned out, Nick's grandfather owned a mansion-like building just an hour or so away from his rented apartment. The sky had darkened abnormally fast, a few stars peeking a look behind the clouds, perhaps afraid of the nightmares that lived just below them. Harry only found out that they were were headed to a place he knew once he recognized the street name. He'd been there before, with Nick—when they were both younger and dreamers. But he remembered.

They had made only one stop on the way, and it was to pick up a copy of The Notebook, which Harry complained about for a solid five minutes.

His mouth hung wide open as he clambered out of the car, Nick's quiet apologies concerning the long drive deemed unimportant. The building looked the same- apart from a few cracks in the walls here and there- and it brought a smile to Harry's face. It looked to be dark inside, which wasn't surprising, granted no one lived there.

"Nick." Harry said, awestruck.

"You remember?" Nick questioned, a shy look upon his face.

"Of course I remember—this is incredible. Thank you. Thank you so much." Harry said, flinging himself onto Nick, his arms wrapping around him tightly. Harry might have seen his fair share of miracles in his time, but Nick had to be the only true anomaly—and he thought so with the biggest of hearts beating wildly in his chest.

"It's not even mine." Nick laughed out, burying his face in the crook of Harry's neck. He mumbled, "But I'm glad you like it."

"I do. I really do." Harry said, pulling away at once, exclaiming, "We have to go inside- Nick, come on!"

Harry dragged Nick up the short staircase and into the building by the arm, just as he had done the first time. Back then, he'd cared for an extraordinary amount of people- it really shouldn't have come as a surprise once it backfired. It had been a clear sky, Harry remembered, and they had climbed onto the roof of Nick's mum's car- which he had 'borrowed'- to watch the stars. Looking back at it, the night seemed unreal. Now he'd get a chance to relive it, with a bonus: this time he wasn't scared enough to hold back from kissing Nick.

"C'mon," Harry urged, nearly tripping them both as he ran through the first hall, ignoring all of it in favor of getting to the basement quicker. Harry reckoned that he didn't need reminding of what the place looked like if he knew it well enough to run blindly through it, though.

It was only when they reached the basement that Nick flicked the light on, Harry busying himself by pulling the first cardboard box he could find towards himself.

"What you doing, love?" Nick mumbled as he fiddled with the projector that stood on the bookcase in the very back of the room, next to the staircase.

"Finding a provider of heat, Nick, and- ah! Here we go." Harry held up three dusty looking blankets which he'd found in the second cardboard box he'd opened.

"I see." Nick said, his eyes finding their way back to the projector, wearing a childish grin on his face.

-

By the end of the movie, they were both crying, a giggle escaping both of them each time one of them emitted a rather audible sniffle.

Harry heard thunder crackle from the upstairs window, and wondered whether the moment could get any better. It could, apparently- because a second had passed, and then, like a prolonged sigh of relief, rain started pouring down. The roaring sound was loud enough to carry itself into the basement, sending some sort of calm over them, a bit like a blanket.

Harry and Nick were curled up on the bed-sofa, the credits rolling in the background, happy and satisfied with the situation entirely.

"I haven't really been wanting to bring this up- I've kind of been pretending it won't happen, which is silly- but I reckon we need to discuss it." Nick said quietly, his eyebrows seemed unsure of whether he was upset or frustrated.

"Shoot." Harry said.

"How long are you going to stay?" Nick asked. "You said you were on holiday, and I don't know if you were joking or not, but if you weren't, then I just wanted to know when and where you're going- I'm sorry, that came out wrong, I mean that-"

"Nick." The younger man brushed a hand through Nick's hair. He would much rather have Nick's lips on his own than have to discuss such a serious matter that's he himself hadn't thought much about. He would, though. If it soothed Nick.

"Yeah?" Nick worried his lip with his teeth, and Harry reckoned he looked awfully tempting just then.

"It's not silly, it's fine." Harry said first, if only to establish some sort of quiet for a minute. He continued once Nick nodded, "I don't know, if I'm to be honest."

"You don't know?" He quirked an eyebrow in question.

"Exactly. This holiday is... it lasts for as long as I want it to. I just don't want to be busy with work all the time, y'know?" Harry reckoned Nick really didn't know, considering that was all he did. He nodded, nonetheless. "I'd much rather be caught up in doing something fun. Something like... Well- this."

Nick didn't say anything verbally, instead settling on that pressing his lips to Harry's would say enough for him.

It escalated quickly enough: Nick ending up on top of Harry at some point, two very prominent problems distracting them both. As Nick attempted to unbutton his jeans, Harry pulled away and looked Nick dead in the eye. 

"We are not fucking in your grandad's mansion, Nick." Harry laughed.

Nick pouted jokingly. "Home, then?"

"Home." Harry confirmed with a nod.


	6. Reconciliation

You know you've picked dedicated friends when they show up on your doorstep at half seven in the morning. Or, on Nick's doorstep. Harry had woken up alone in bed-Nick having already left for work- to the anthem of insistent banging on the front door.

Groggily, he'd managed to pull himself up and together enough to answer, and to say that he was surprised to see Jessie standing there, red faced, was a very big, uncomfortable understatement.

"Jessie?" Harry breathed, aching to run up and hug her, yet remaining too afraid of how she might react to carry out the action.

"Harry." She said, as though she knew what her business with him was already, and was determined not to stray from her goal. She continued, "I'm here to ask you in person, because maybe it's not fair on you to just assume you did something, although you probably did, and maybe I feel just a little bit bad for blocking you on every social media app I own."

When Harry smiled at her, she added, "Just maybe."

"And you knew I was at Nick's how, exactly?"

"Oh, come on, everyone knows your fucking. It's trending on fucking Instagram you absolute dimwit." Jessie said, then promptly invited herself in, walking with a confident stride into the living room before collapsing on the couch—all while Harry did his best to keep up, all but running after her.

"What?" He exclaimed, throwing himself onto the couch next to Jessie.

"Yeah: what? I thought you had the paparazzi under control—the fuck are you doing here not suing their asses?" Jessie asked, folding her legs up on the couch, twisting to face Harry properly.

"Sue them for what, Jessie? I'm not quite sure what your on about." He felt his heart speed up in his chest, the knowledge of what Jessie might say next somehow looming over him, inflicting fear both unrealistic and entirely too little. Because if there was one thing more dangerous than being too honest, it would be being too honest with the media.

"For taking those pictures, Harry. The pictures? Remember them?" She said, sounding exasperated. Her face expression changed from mildly irritated to remorseful in a split second when she caught Harry's eyes.

Her obvious repression of emotion on her face shone bright and clear.

"You don't know." She stated, rather than asked, because she knew him better than he knew himself.

"What pictures?" Harry asked, only growing more worried when Jessie looked down, avoiding his gaze. He snapped, "Jessie."

"I'm really sorry, Harry." She bit her lip, pulling out her phone and handing it to him.

"What do you want me to do?" Harry asked, opening her phone with his fingerprint.

"Go to my photo album." She ordered, keeping her eyes locked onto her lap.

He did as she asked. It opened, unsurprisingly, onto a screenshot of a hate blog dedicated to him, because Jessie was complicated that way, but soon, after only a few swipes of the screen, he found what she'd wanted him to see. Or rather, dreaded for him to see.

"Oh, no. No, no, no." Harry's hands started shaking. "No, no—this can't be happening."

He looked at the pictures of him in a frozen position of bliss, lying underneath Nick, in his fucking bedroom. He tried to swallow, only to find that his mouth had gone dry. He seemed entirely unable to stop staring at the screen in disgust.

"Shit, shit—no." Harry felt tears prick his eyes—this couldn't be real, could it? The media wouldn't go this far. But it would. And Harry knew that.

"Harry-"

"Nick's going to hate me. Jessie, I can't—what would I even say? What am I gonna do?" He said, his words slurring together as panic latched onto his brain, shaking it without remorse.

"He will not hate you, Harry. He loves you." Jessie said, sincerity written all over her face. She pulled Harry into a hug as he started to cry, dropping the phone in the process.

"Pictures of him fucking me are all over the internet. They're never gonna go away—I'm just- I- fuck." The situation insinuated perpetuity by ten folds.

"You're going to be okay, Harry. And Nick's never going to stop loving you. He hasn't fallen out of love with you since he met you—which was years ago. It'll be okay. It's not your fault." She soothed him. Harry couldn't even imagine what she meant: what she said went in one ear and right out the other. Jessie must've been feeling like quite the champion, too, having tracked him down to ask something, only to accidentally turn him into a blubbering mess.

"Look at us," He laughed bitterly. "I sat just like this with Nick when you told me you hated me."

"I never hated you, Harry." Jessie said. Harry managed to pull himself together a bit then, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, wiping any stray tears away with his hands.

"When—when were they posted?" Harry asked hoarsely, though deep down, he really didn't want to know.

"This morning." Jessie said.

"Earlier than half seven? Fuck- what if Nick's already seen them? What if he-"

The sound of his phone going off in his back pocked shook him up enough to jump. He refused to acknowledge his phone. The feeling seemed to be mutual, as Jessie said nothing about leaving it where it was.

"And Jessie," He continued with the ringing in the background, "Did you really think I'd be awake at half seven? And have seen the pictures?" He laughed, because the whole situation was unreal at this point. "You must've seen the pictures on your way here—didn't you?"

"Yes." Jessie answered honestly. "But Harry, I figured maybe someone would've told you by the time I got here. And I could- although I'd be a right arsehole to-catch you in a weak moment and help you, and you'd forgive me and everything would be okay again."

Harry glared at her, flaring his nostrils. "You never did say what you thought I did." He noted.

"I thought you slept with my boyfriend." She said, squeezing her eyes shut, as though expecting a verbal slap.

The morning was already as bad as it could get, however, so he just sighed, and pulled her into a hug. She stiffened at first, taking a minute to settle into the hug.

"I would never sleep with your fucking boyfriend, Jessie." Harry said.

"I know." She replied. "I just—we were drifting apart, and I just needed something to be mad about, because I can't hate you, no matter how hard I try."

"I can't hate you, too." Harry mumbled into her ear, feeling safe in his best friends arms, all whilst his heart tried in vain to beat at what would be considered a healthy pace.


	7. Glass Half Empty

One thing Harry knew for sure he'd never forget was when he turned on the radio a little after Jessie had left. It was undeniably Nick's voice coming from the speakers—but his voice breaking... that couldn't be him, could it?

Harry held his breath as he raised a stubbornly steady hand to turn the volume up.

"I-I don't have a comment, are you deaf? I don't want any trouble." At the sound of cameras clicking, Harry pursed his lips, tears gathering in his eyes. "I'll call the police if you don't stop, I mean it. See—go awa- yes, hello, I'd like to report harassment in-"

Harry tore the radio right out of its power socket, pushing down the urge to hurtle it across the apartment in white hot rage. He tried to rationalize the situation—he wanted nothing more than to sue the shit out of whatever fucking pervert photographed him and Nick. And yet, Harry had been through similar things a thousand times before: not once did it end well for him. Celebrity's were doomed from the very start to live lives others would kill for and never enjoy it.

"Harry? You here?" And it was the sound of Nick's quiet voice and the door slamming a second later that Harry sank to the floor without a reply waiting to escape him. And then came the sobbing. They were silent at first, a hand placed over his mouth as he felt an undeniably harsh wave of sadness and anger towards the world wrack his small frame. Then he breathed in sharply, and hearing Nick's footsteps trailing closer to were he sat on the kitchen floor made his heart throb uncomfortably.

"Harry." He squeezed his eyes shut, too afraid to look Nick in the eye. Not when he'd fucked up so bad.

"Harry. Look at me." Nick said. Harry did. The older man's expression was fury—but it seemed forced. There were tears in his eyes as well, but he swallowed it down, it looked like, along with his pride.

"I'm sorry." Harry said, his voice blubbery and bordering on incoherent from crying.

"Yeah." Nick said, sinking down to the floor in front of him with a prolonged sigh. "Bet you are."

Harry tried to calm himself down at the sight of Nick placing his head in his hands, but no matter what mental mantra he repeated to himself obsessively, it didn't seem to work.

"Nick. I'm so sorry." His voice didn't seem to reach Nick. For a moment, all was quiet and delicate. Then Nick sighed again: the universal sign for disappointment. Another sob wracked through Harry's body.

"Listen, I've got to take off for a few days. You're welcome to stay here, if you want." Nick said, discretely wiping at his eyes, pursing his lips. He got up, and though Harry wanted nothing more than to follow, he stayed put.

"Where- where are you going?" Harry dared ask, panic reveling within him.

"Away." Nick stated. And somehow, that was that.

-

It had been a day since Nick left, and on top of that, he wasn't answering his phone. Harry had tried to contact him through ever desperate means—he'd gone far enough as to message him through twitter at one point.

And Harry began to wonder if Nick would ever forgive him. Or if he'd even get a chance to tell him just how sorry he was. Harry knew that logically, he couldn't have known someone would photograph them together, especially not during such an intimate occurrence, but he was a celebrity, and it isn't all fun and games.

It was well past ten by the time Harry started feeling as though he was intruding; it wasn't his apartment, he didn't pay rent to live here. The thing was that he hadn't exactly let himself feel much since Nick left for wherever the fuck he felt necessary; he'd been keeping himself occupied by fooling himself into thinking it important to pack—just to have a bag ready if things didn't turn out in Harry's favor.

It- being the situation's entirety- was silly, somehow. Why should Harry care for someone like Nick? Who or what had decided that he deserved affection from a person with such a big heart?

Eventually, everything felt just a little bit too heavy on Harry's shoulders, and so he resorted to scrolling aimlessly through mind-numbing posts on whichever app looking the most intriguing.

He saw at least two hundred messages directed towards him with questions such as, 'is it true you fucked nick?', 'you gay?' And 'finally! I knew this would happen,'. No one seemed at all worried about how things might take a turn for the worse for Harry now—although, it really wasn't his fans fault. They hadn't sent someone to take those pictures, money-loving manipulators had.

As darkness happily enveloped the apartment, Harry had begun to feel his heart slow to a moderately healthy rate. In fact, he felt a lot better—up until he came across an article, and fuck—he hadn't thought it possible to feel so hurt and exasperated at the very same time.   
'RADIO SHOW HOST NICK GRIMSHAW DENIES HAVING LOVE AFFAIR WITH POPSTAR HARRY STYLES'  
Not only had Nick refused to consult with Harry on the decision he made to have an interview on a late night with fame-grabbing dimwits, but he had outright denied having had any relationship past companionship with him.

And for a moment, Harry wished that he could delete the internet completely.


	8. As Time Flies By

Three weeks. Three agonizingly slow passing weeks had slipped away, and Nick had only just started returning some of Harry's calls. Not that the phone calls held much substance at all; dull questions and watered down responses were less than what Harry had expected.

It seemed that the media wasn't going to let the latest story die down any time soon, if ever, and it was getting to the point where Harry was avoiding leaving his apartment (which is where he ended up at) unless absolutely necessary.

Harry knew that Nick was on a break from the radio station. There had been an announcement just a day ago explaining where the charismatic man had gone off to.

Due to false accusations, Nick Grimshaw has taken leave until further notice.

It was truly ridiculous—all of it. Nick seemed so distraught when he picked up the phone, Harry dared not ask why he hadn't wanted to tell the world about their relationship. He knew that realistically, it was down to tricky business; if they claimed one thing and then changed their minds, it'd be very hard to claim something different.

It was also a matter of holding up their status quo: Harry knew that the both of them were very involved in it, even if it was done subconsciously on their part.

There was no way in hell that they were destined to break apart like this. Sure, they had had a fling or something of the sort back when they were younger, and it hadn't ended with much more than a chaste kiss, but that didn't mean that they couldn't make it work now.   
The media broke them before, and back then it was very hard to blame it all on curious folk sitting behind screens 24/7, and this time it might be easier to put all of the blame on them, but to work it out, Harry and Nick would have to admit that they can't do anything at all about it.

Although Harry had his doubts, he knew that this shitstorm would eventually blow over. With time.

-

"Nick?" Harry didn't mean to sound so surprised that Nick had called him, it was just so that Harry had always been the one to call since the pictures had been leaked into the media.

"Yeah, Hazza. It's me." Nick replied.

"You sound well." Harry commented, putting down the guitar he'd been holding, having been entirely unable to strum or pluck a single thing. The call was a nice distraction.

"I am. Sort of. Why don't you come see for yourself?" Nick asked, sounding... cheery, almost. Harry's face displayed a variety of emotions, but he couldn't settle on a single one, so he ended up looking very frazzled.

"You mean it? How long have you been back?"

"Not very long. I came back from my friend James' house up north just yesterday." Nick explained. He drew in a breath, which sounded static through the phone speaker. "I'm sorry, Harry. For everything. I reacted like a fucking toddler, I didn't... I was terrible, and you needed me, and I just... I just left. Is there any way—any way at all, that you'd be willing to try and forgive me?"

Harry felt his lower lip begin to tremble as he said with a reluctant smile, "Perhaps. But only if you're willing to make me those chocolate chip cookies you made back when we were like, in our early twenties."

"I was in my early twenties, popstar. You were eighteen." Nick corrected him, and Harry swore he could hear the reminiscent smile on his face through the phone.

"Alright." Harry laughed, feeling happier than he had in those three weeks of nothing on his mind but the media.

"Alright." Nick said. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah. And Nick?" He crinkled up his nose in an attempt to withdraw from his emotional state.

"Yeah, Haz?" Nick's curious reply had Harry's eyelids falling shut.

"I'm sorry, too." A daring statement to make out in the open, but he reckoned it was necessary.

"Not as sorry as I am. I hope... I hope we can patch this all up." The line then went dead.


	9. What Is Left Is Taken For Granted

Harry had cleaned the apartment three times already, and it wasn't even past ten in the morning yet. It wouldn't exactly be a give away to say that he was nervous about Nick coming over—he had always been the one to be waiting for Harry to come to his place.

He wasn't very good at being patient, essentially. He'd sit by the table stirring his tea for no longer than five seconds before growing incredibly bored, shooting up to his feet to fluff up the couch pillows once more.

By the time the front door bell rang, Harry had broken a sweat, and felt unprepared for Nick's arrival (regardless of the work he'd put into cleaning everything except for himself).

Harry really didn't have a clue as to what exactly he expected from this. Sure, he wanted what Nick wanted: to patch things up. But in the long run... Harry had started feeling restless again—and it was like a disease: he could try all he wants to outrun it, but only in the end will he discover that its roots are within him.

He could do what he'd always done: run. Run and hide and never get anywhere at all. Or he could stay. Create a life here—with Nick.   
But, Harry supposed, that was exactly what scared him to death: settling down. There was always a chance- no matter how in love you are- that you regret choosing that, then, when.

If only he had more time, more experience, more something—he really didn't know what he was grasping for at this point.

Perhaps Nick was worth fighting for. Perhaps not.

There was always another option, no matter what situation you were in. Harry could choose to open the door and let Nick in, or he could ignore it entirely. He knew, deep inside, he wanted to open the door. Let his emotions run wild. It posed quite a query, really. So much to do, so little to say—nothing added up just as Harry had suspected it might've.

It was a question of if, in reality, and that if determined the situations turn-out, perhaps even his whole life's turn-out.

Eventually he'd have to choose. He'd be forced to, if nothing else. You either go in willingly or die trying to resist it, but the inevitable of it all catches up with you. It has no remorse for the coward that hides in you. Harry's inept way of handling things had always been close to admired by people who knew him well: they wished they knew how one could be so intelligent and carefree at the same time. All the while Harry yearned to learn to care—to cherish a moment, and embrace the one thereafter. An inability, that's what it was. He couldn't live because he'd fallen for the past. A tricky choice for a partner, but Harry sure as hell knew he'd settle for it.

The doorbell rang again. Harry swallowed drily. To open or ignore. He really didn't know just yet, and he didn't even think he knew whether or not he'd ever know, really.

Fittingly enough, thunder rumbled outside, mumbling mutterings only the sky is capable of. The thunder was followed by fast, hard rain, and the sound of it hitting his window was loud enough to shake him out of his thoughts.

Harry was no good at it, but he knew that confrontation was the right way to go about this.

Steeling himself calm, Harry all but tip-toed up to the door. The doorbell rang again, startling him. He swung the door open at last, perhaps revealing the beginning or the end. Or maybe it was both at the same time.


	10. At The End Of The Year

"I would, yes." Nick answered Harry after he'd offered him a fourth cup of tea. They'd been sitting there, at Harry's dining table, for far too long. Memories of what had happened when Harry opened the front door seemed to be on both of their minds, and initially, they probably should have figured that having sex right after a major fight wasn't the smartest move to make.

"There you go." Harry said, putting the tea pot back on the table, careful to draw the act of doing so out for as long as he could.

"Thanks." Nick said, picking his tea cup up and taking a slow sip from it.

"Nick," Harry started, sighing through his nose, pausing several times before continuing on. "I think I love you."

Nick nearly choked to death right there and then: blubbering like an attractive fish for nearly a whole minute before gathering himself together.

"You what?" Nick tried to say through fits of coughs, but it came out more like: "y' wha'?"

"I think I love you." Harry repeated calmly. He was ready, he thought. "And that's why I'm leaving."

Nick nearly choked again, but he hadn't quite had the chance to take another sip, so instead his face gave way to a series of facial expressions that would have been comedic had it not been for what had caused Nick to look as such.

"You... you're leaving?" Harry thought Nick's tone of use sounded more like the mellowed out version of fear, rather than actual fear. "When?"

"Tomorrow." Harry said, deciding that tomorrow seemed to fit only a second after saying it. It didn't dawn on him what change he would inflict on Nick; it didn't even cross his mind.

"Tomorrow." Nick said, almost to himself. Harry expected Nick to protest when he opened his mouth again, but instead he simply asked: "Why?"

"The whole world is out there." Harry said, barking out a laugh lacking any bemusement whatsoever. "Christ," He drew a hand through his hair, pulling at it feverishly. "Everything just seems so fucked up when it should be perfect." Harry didn't know what to do with himself, so he simply sat there: overwhelmed and in a bit of a crisis.

"Then go get it, Haz." Harry looked up at Nick, not missing how utterly miserable he looked to be. Yet, when he searched his face for more give aways for what a terrible mistake he was making, he found a certain fondness in his eyes.

"I can't just- not when I've found you, it's not fair." Harry said, and at this point, he hadn't a clue as to who's side he was on.

"You want to be happy, yeah?" Nick asked: a simple, dangerous question.

"'Course." Harry replied with: reluctantly and knowing.

"Then go." Nick spoke as though it was such an obvious answer to Harry's near constant lost state. It broke Harry's heart right in two.

"Nick, I want to be happy—with you, I can't leave you behind. It's not fair." He repeated.

"I've got a life here, Harry. A job, an apartment... everything I know is here. I'm not going anywhere. If you want to stay, then stay. But if I'm not enough, then leave. Do what you want to do. Find whatever the fuck it is you're on about." Harry didn't miss the wetness in Nick's eyes, and it was all it took for Harry's lip begin to quiver.

"I need change. I need something to do." Harry said- because the moment his hands weren't fiddling with something, the whole world caught up and loomed over him, promising revenge for running.

"What did I say about you being a tad bit manic?" Nick punctuated his sentence with every emotion possible: his eyes projected fondness, his lips terror, but his eyebrows spoke only in the language of the knowing. He had known where this was heading, and it wasn't at all surprising when Harry seemingly lost his head. And it was time for him to understand that.

Harry had known well enough that a fairytale start never had a fairytale ending, but it was nice while it lasted. He had to chase the feeling of being infinite, he knew that. Perhaps it was what he was born to do. Perhaps the world would always pose a threat of undoing what he saw right. Perhaps there really wasn't anything at all dangerous out there, but Harry himself who twisted each scenario in his head to fit a corrupt profile.

But there really was only one thing Harry was certain of: if you keep running, you could convince yourself you're getting away.


End file.
